


That Which We Call A Rose

by racheltuckerrr



Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7638985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racheltuckerrr/pseuds/racheltuckerrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was looking through my drafts when I found this little something I wrote for Women's Day, and I'm a bit afraid that if I wait for next year to post it, I won't find it again, so here you go, enjoy! :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	That Which We Call A Rose

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking through my drafts when I found this little something I wrote for Women's Day, and I'm a bit afraid that if I wait for next year to post it, I won't find it again, so here you go, enjoy! :)

_i_ , Women’s Day comes only two weeks after the accident and it makes her weep even harder when the kitchen table stays empty, serving as yet another reminder of how well and truly alone she is now in the world.

Before, she was so accustomed to the small bouquet of yellow tulips she would receive on this day, every year without fail, as would her sisters. Their mother too, before she passed, but hers were always a different color than that of her daughters. When Laura asked her father why that was, his answer was that a man can have many daughters, and he ought to love them more than anything in the world, but he only has one _wife_ , and he should never forget that.

As a child, Laura never really understood what he meant by that, and it would be many, _many_ years later as she stood, waiting on a cylon basestar for a lone raptor to dock, that she could say with absolute certainty and conviction, that her father had been _right_.

Women’s Day is only two weeks after the accident and it makes her weep even harder when the kitchen table stays empty, almost mocking her in her loneliness, only serving to strengthen her grief.

Next year she goes out and buys all three bouquets herself. She feels a little better for a while, but it’s only temporary as the house doesn’t seem any less empty and the flowers just don’t have the same effect as they did before. She throws them out the next day and cries herself to a fitful sleep that night.

 _ii_ , Adar never bothered with buying her stuff, because he didn’t think she was the kind of woman who needed affirmation at every turn. Well, that, and the fact that she was _the other woman_ , making that kind of thing a little awkward and a lot harder to explain away if it was found out, what with being a politician and having people constantly watch his every move. No, he reserved the flowers and gifts for his wife, and Laura preferred it that way.

She always prided herself on being a real woman. Flesh and bones, skin and sweat and no illusions. She never much cared for false compliments or leading men on. Expecting anything more from him on this day than what they were would have been dishonest. It would have hurt too much to be faced with her own hypocrisy that way.

The fact that he never gave her flowers was one thing, which in itself wasn’t too tough a break for Laura, but then catching a whiff of the overly sweet, almost artificial scent of the lilies he had bought his wife earlier as they stumbled into the bedroom already half-undressed was a bit more of a let-down than she would have imagined.

That, and it certainly didn’t help her maintain the image of herself that she would have liked.

 _iii_ , The first year of her presidency Billy got her a single – _yellow –_ rose that had been artificially grown on Cloud 9, to remind her that underneath the crushing weight of the responsibility of 50 thousand or so souls who were all counting on her to lead them home, that she was also a woman, and _allowed_ to be one, lest she forget.

It was the sweetest thing a man – not including her late father – had ever done for Laura, and she probably kissed his cheek, and he probably blushed and excused himself shortly after. Billy never really knew how to deal with women – not that he was given much of a chance to, in the end.

It wasn’t the last time someone had acknowledged or appreciated her in that way, but he was the first one to do so, and she missed him all the more for that. For being the first to accept her and put his remaining faith in her, to trust _her_ , faults and all, to do that which she thought was right.

The anniversary of his death always hits her harder than she is prepared for. It reminds her that the Gods don’t care about who deserves to live or die. It should make her heart feel a little lighter, if only the tumor in her chest didn’t already make it increasingly more difficult to breathe.

She didn’t have any illusions about her own innocence anymore, but she would have done anything to save Billy from a fate he didn’t deserve. To save _anyone_ , for that matter.

 _iv_ , She’s out on the grass fields, with the children gathered around her when she first sees him, standing there, like he has all the time in the world, with a bunch of wildflowers poorly disguised behind his back. She has a sudden urge to just run up to him and kiss him right then, but she’s been the president for too long to simply act on that desire. The knowledge that they can remedy that later is enough to put a smile on her face.

She dismisses the children, saying it’s too beautiful a day to spend a second more of it doing anything other than enjoying it _, which is exactly what I intend to do_ , she thinks to herself. She meets him with a brilliant smile, swiping her overgrown bangs out of her face, and they just stand there for a minute or two, staring at each other, reacquainting themselves with the dearly beloved sight of the other, because it’s been two months since his last visit, three since Groundbreaking, and she’s missed him more than any other luxury.

“Madam President,” he brings his arms around and hands her the makeshift bouquet that he must have handpicked for her as soon as he landed. She’s touched, yes, but frankly couldn’t care less about the flowers when faced with the fact that he’s finally in front of her again. It’s astonishing how keenly she feels his absence whenever he leaves, and how little anything else means to her in the grand scheme of things.

“Bill.” She sighs, reaching her arms out and around his neck, pulling him as close to her as she dares, his arms coming around her instantly, and she feels like she can finally breathe.

They talk about everything and nothing, empty battlestars, incompetent presidents, cabins and possibilities. He stays with her and holds her through the night, kisses her goodbye in the morning with a promise to return in a month or so, for the final time. They agree to put their future on hold until then. Laying out the plans for her cabin can _surely_ wait another month.

It’s a week later, almost to the day, that the cylons arrive on the planet.


End file.
